第100章

  “no. nobody really wanted to track thresh down in that
  grass. it has a sinister feeling to it. every time i look at that
  field, all i can think of are hidden things. snakes, and rabid an-
  imals, and quicksand,” peeta says. “there could be anything in
  there.”
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  i don’t say so but peeta’s words remind me of the warnings
  they give us about not going beyond the fence in district 12. i
  can’t help, for a moment, comparing him with gale, who
  would see that field as a potential source of food as well as a
  threat. thresh certainly did. it’s not that peeta’s soft exactly,
  and he’s proved he’s not a coward. but there are things you
  don’t question too much, i guess, when your home always
  smells like baking bread, whereas gale questions everything.
  what would peeta think of the irreverent banter that passes
  between us as we break the law each day? would it shock
  him? the things we say about panem? gale’s tirades against
  the capitol?
  “maybe there is a bread bush in that field,” i say. “maybe
  that’s why thresh looks better fed now than when we started
  the games.”
  “either that or he’s got very generous sponsors,” says pee-
  ta. “i wonder what we’d have to do to get haymitch to send us
  some bread.”
  i raise my eyebrows before i remember he doesn’t know
  about the message haymitch sent us a couple of nights ago.
  one kiss equals one pot of broth. it’s not the sort of thing i can
  blurt out, either. to say my thoughts aloud would be tipping
  off the audience that the romance has been fabricated to play
  on their sympathies and that would result in no food at all.
  somehow, believably, i’ve got to get things back on track.
  something simple to start with. i reach out and take his hand.
  “well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me
  knock you out,” i say mischievously.
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  “yeah, about that,” says peeta, entwining his fingers in
  mine. “don’t try something like that again.”
  “or what?” i ask.
  “or . . . or . . .” he can’t think of anything good. “just give me
  a minute.”
  “what’s the problem?” i say with a grin.
  “the problem is we’re both still alive. which only rein-
  forces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing,” says
  peeta.
  “i did do the right thing,” i say.
  “no! just don’t, katniss!” his grip tightens, hurting my hand,
  and there’s real anger in his voice. “don’t die for me. you
  won’t be doing me any favors. all right?”
  i’m startled by his intensity but recognize an excellent op-
  portunity for getting food, so i try to keep up. “maybe i did it
  for myself, peeta, did you ever think of that? maybe you aren’t
  the only one who . . . who worries about . . . what it would be
  like if. . .”
  i fumble. i’m not as smooth with words as peeta. and while
  i was talking, the idea of actually losing peeta hit me again and
  i realized how much i don’t want him to die. and it’s not about
  the sponsors. and it’s not about what will happen back home.
  and it’s not just that i don’t want to be alone. it’s him. i do not
  want to lose the boy with the bread.
  “if what, katniss?” he says softly.
  i wish i could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this
  moment from the prying eyes of panem. even if it means los-
  ing food. whatever i’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine.
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  “that’s exactly the kind of topic haymitch told me to steer
  clear of,” i say evasively, although haymitch never said any-
  thing of the kind. in fact, he’s probably cursing me out right
  now for dropping the ball during such an emotionally charged
  moment. but peeta somehow catches it.
  “then i’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and
  moves in to me.
  this is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. neither
  of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. our
  lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. this is the first kiss
  where i actually feel stirring inside my chest. warm and cu-
  rious. this is the first kiss that makes me want another.
  but i don’t get it. well, i do get a second kiss, but it’s just a
  light one on the tip of my nose because peeta’s been dis-
  tracted. “i think your wound is bleeding again. come on, lie
  down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.
  my socks are dry enough to wear now. i make peeta put his
  jacket back on. the damp cold seems to cut right down to my
  bones, so he must be half frozen. i insist on taking the first
  watch, too, although neither of us think it’s likely anyone will
  come in this weather. but he won’t agree unless i’m in the bag,
  too, and i’m shivering so hard that it’s pointless to object. in
  stark contrast to two nights ago, when i felt peeta was a mil-
  lion miles away, i’m struck by his immediacy now. as we set-
  tle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow, the
  other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep.
  no one has held me like this in such a long time. since my fa-
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  ther died and i stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s
  arms have made me feel this safe.
  with the aid of the glasses, i lie watching the drips of water
  splatter on the cave floor. rhythmic and lulling. several times,
  i drift off briefly and then snap awake, guilty and angry with
  myself. after three or four hours, i can’t help it, i have to rouse
  peeta because i can’t keep my eyes open. he doesn’t seem to
  mind.
  “tomorrow, when it’s dry, i’ll find us a place so high in the
  trees we can both sleep in peace,” i promise as i drift off.
  but tomorrow is no better in terms of weather. the deluge
  continues as if the gamemakers are intent on washing us all
  away. the thunder’s so powerful it seems to shake the ground.
  peeta’s considering heading out anyway to scavenge for food,
  but i tell him in this storm it would be pointless. he won’t be
  able to see three feet in front of his face and he’ll only end up
  getting soaked to the skin for his troubles. he knows i’m right,
  but the gnawing in our stomachs is becoming painful.
  the day drags on turning into evening and there’s no break
  in the weather. haymitch is our only hope, but nothing is
  forthcoming, either from lack of money — everything will cost
  an exorbitant amount — or because he’s dissatisfied with our
  performance. probably the latter. i’d be the first to admit
  we’re not exactly riveting today. starving, weak from injuries,
  trying not to reopen wounds. we’re sitting huddled together
  wrapped in the sleeping bag, yes, but mostly to keep warm.
  the most exciting thing either of us does is nap.
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  i’m not really sure how to ramp up the romance. the kiss
  last night was nice, but working up to another will take some
  forethought. there are girls in the seam, some of the mer-
  chant girls, too, who navigate these waters so easily. but i’ve
  never had much time or use for it. anyway, just a kiss isn’t
  enough anymore clearly because if it was we’d have gotten
  food last night. my instincts tell me haymitch isn’t just looking
  for physical affection, he wants something more personal. the
  sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when
  we were practicing for the interview. i’m rotten at it, but pee-
  ta’s not. maybe the best approach is to get him talking.
  “peeta,” i say lightly. “you said at the interview you’d had a
  crush on me forever. when did forever start?”